There is something quietly revealing about a production that only truly comes alive in its second half. Arthur Miller’s The Price is structurally weighted toward its final confrontation, but this staging at the Marylebone Theatre makes that imbalance particularly pronounced. Act I, for all its careful scene-setting, feels oddly airless, like champagne without the fizz, while Act II delivers the dramatic clarity and energy the play has been withholding.
Set in New York in 1968, the play centres on Victor Franz (Elliot Cowan), a policeman on the brink of retirement, who returns to his late father’s attic to sell off the family’s remaining possessions. Joined by his wife Esther and, unexpectedly, his estranged brother Walter, the encounter becomes less about furniture and more about competing versions of the past.
Before a word is spoken, however, the production establishes a strong visual world. Jon Bausor’s set and costume design is striking: a large attic space with high, sloping sides that immediately conveys both scale and entrapment. The room is filled with ornate Biedermeier furniture—rich, lacquered walnut cupboards, a harp, and other carefully placed objects that speak of former wealth now suspended in time. The gradual lighting of table lamps adds a quiet, atmospheric glow, reinforcing the sense of memory slowly being illuminated. A particularly evocative touch comes with the record player; as Victor plays a record of laughter’ before Esther’s entrance, the sound becomes a fragile bridge to a past when his father’s fortunes were intact.
Director Jonathan Munby shapes the production with a clear eye for these visual and thematic details, even if the pacing of the first act does not fully sustain dramatic tension.
Much of Act I is given over to the prolonged negotiation between Victor Franz and the ageing furniture dealer Gregory Solomon. Henry Goodman makes an immediate impact on his entrance, injecting life into the stage with an energetic and at times deliberately overplayed comic presence. While this occasionally tips toward caricature, the performance gains depth in Act II, where Goodman skilfully balances desperation with calculation. His Solomon emerges as a shrewd observer, quickly recognising that the real value in the room lies not in the furniture, but in Victor himself.
The arrival of Walter Franz marks a decisive shift. John Hopkins delivers a performance of clarity and conviction, conveying Walter’s perspective with a realism that feels both persuasive and grounded. His presence provides the dramatic muscle the play requires at this point, propelling the action forward and lending weight to Walter’s argument as the brother who refused to be defined—or manipulated—by their father’s decline. In contrast, Elliot Cowan’s Victor is presented as increasingly rigid, a man whose sense of sacrifice has hardened into something immovable. Whether by design or performance choice, little of the inner conflict beneath that stance is allowed to surface, making him less tragic than pitiable—a figure defined by decisions he seems unable to re-examine.
As Esther, Faye Castelow offers a thoughtful and intelligent performance. She emerges as a caring yet frustrated wife, one who embraces Victor while quietly holding a mirror to his limitations. Her weariness with years of financial constraint is palpable, and her subtle openness to Walter’s perspective suggests an awareness that a different life might have been possible. She becomes the voice of present reality in a play otherwise consumed by competing versions of the past.
The production’s most memorable image comes at the end. Solomon, having secured his bargain, sits triumphantly as the “laughing” record plays once more, raising his arms in victory. It is a darkly comic yet telling conclusion. While the brothers debate morality and memory, Solomon understands value in its most immediate sense—and acts upon it. In that moment, the title of the play becomes starkly literal.
Victor, by contrast, remains unchanged. Still in his policeman’s uniform—resisting even the symbolic shift into the suit Esther had earlier urged him to wear—he appears trapped in the same identity, the same patterns, the same life. If there is tragedy here, it lies in his inability to move forward. He seems, ultimately, to have been fooled twice: first by his father, and then by the present transaction.
Others may find a more balanced sympathy between the two brothers; here, however, the production tilts the moral weight more decisively. Sympathy for Victor gives way to pity—not only for his circumstances, but for his failure to break free from them.
A visually striking and thoughtfully directed staging that, despite an uneven first act, finds its force in the clarity of its performances and the quiet ruthlessness of its conclusion.
The Price by Arthur Miller
Director: Jonathan Munby
Cast: Elliot Cowan, Faye Castelow, Henry Goodman, John Hopkins
Until: 07 June 2026
Duration: 2 hours and 45 minutes (including 20 min interval)